


Princess and the Frog

by omgbubblesomg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Cursed Castiel, First Time, Frogs, Halloween, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sam Needs Brain Bleach, Top Castiel, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 15:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12584464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: Prompt: A small animal follows Dean home one night. Dean thinks nothing of it, and let’s the animal inside and gives it something to eat and a warm place to sleep. Pretty typical, right? Well, that would be until Dean wakes up to find his animal companion gone and a man standing in his kitchen. Naked.





	Princess and the Frog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rw_eaden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rw_eaden/gifts).



> This is for [rosemoonweaver](http://rosemoonweaver.tumblr.com/)'s ficoween challenge! I got prompt #16 :)
> 
> Happy halloween everyone! May you all find frogs to bless you this day :)
> 
> PS come bug me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/omgbubblesomg)!

“Come on, Cas, where are you?” Dean hung up on yet another voicemail message, and ignored Sam’s concerned moose face.

“Still nothing?”

“He won’t pick up his damn phone.”

They were trudging down a painfully residential street. There were skulls in the windows and cheap plastic ghouls hanging in the trees. As night descended, little pumpkin fairy lights came on all around them. It actually hurt Dean’s eyes to be surrounded by so much orange.

“He’ll show up, man. He’s probably got a lead.”

“Yeah, well, why did he leave a message saying we should come if he couldn’t even be bothered to specify where?”

Sam could only shrug. Dean hunched his shoulders and scowled at the pavement. He hated not having Cas around. He hated not having his stupid, pretty face staring unblinkingly at him. He hated—

_Reerrt._

He blinked at Sam. “Was that you?”

“Was what me?”

_Reerrt._

Dean looked around wildly. “Did you hear that?”

_Reerrt._

There was a little brown frog sitting on the nearest letterbox, looking straight at Dean and making a noise like a rusty zipper. _Reerrt._

“Hey there, little frog.” Dean approached cautiously. It was… kinda cute? And it had distracted him from his downward where-is-Cas spiral, so he was inclined to like it automatically. He held his hand out to it and crowed with delight when it jumped onto his palm, making the weird sound again. He held it out to Sam.

“Ugh, Dean, what the hell! Put that down, it’s probably poisonous.”

“Hey,” Dean said, affronted. “Don’t be rude.” He put the little frog on his shoulder, and it croaked right into his ear, which made all the hairs on that side of his head stand on end. When Sam scowled at him he stuck his tongue out.

The frog stayed on his shoulder for the whole walk home.

“That thing is not coming inside, Dean.”

“Like hell it isn’t.” Dean slipped under Sam’s outstretched arm and into the motel room, and the frog made another croak that sounded, to Dean, like a croak of approval. Dean pretended to high-five it.

The frog sat on the table while they opened up their laptops. Sam hit the local police channels while Dean searched the news sites, looking for anything that sounded Cas-like, or at least something that sounded vaguely suspicious. The frog gave its opinion on their discussions, too.

“A couple went missing downtown last night,” Sam offered. _Reerrt,_ went the frog, still sounding like a rusty zipper but also somehow like an exasperated frog.

“Here we go. Man killed by a falling pumpkin?” _Reerrt._ Now it sounded like it was putting its hands on its hips. Even though it didn’t have hands. Or hips.

“Two cats disappeared down a— _Dean will you get that thing to stop looking at me?_ ” Dean looked up. The frog had eyes on the side of its head and now that he noticed it, it certainly did seem to be looking at them. Both of them, in fact. Simultaneously. Unblinkingly.

“It’s not looking at you,” he scoffed, trying not to think about how it was _definitely looking straight at them_. “Oh, how about this one? Power outage at that shitty crystal shop down the road?” _Reerrt!_ Sam and Dean both looked at the frog. “It likes that one,” Dean surmised.

“Well it’s going to have to wait because the shop doesn’t open til tomorrow morning.”

_Reerrt!_

“Sorry, frog,” Dean told it. “You can come with us when we go tomorrow, if you want.”

“Dean, stop talking to it like it’s a person.”

“Aw, come on, Sam. Don’t tell me you don’t think it’s cute? Look at its little face.”

“Dude, cut it out. It’s not cute.”

“I bet you want to give it a kiss,” Dean winked, making exaggerated kissy sounds at his brother until Sam got up.

“I’m going to sleep,” he humphed. “And put that thing outside. I don’t want to find it in my bed in the middle of the night.”

Dean didn’t put it outside. It looked too forlorn sitting in his hand, so he took it to the kitchen. He left it in the sink with a little bit of water and an upturned mug to sit on. He didn’t know what it ate so he left the last slice of yesterday’s cold pizza next to it. “Sleep safe, little thing,” he told it, feeling stupid but totally justified when the frog croaked at him as if to say goodnight in return.

With the lights off and no frog to distract him, it was harder to not think about Cas. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to not dream about dead angels.

He needn’t have worried. No sooner had he shut his eyes than he was opening them again. The room was pitch black but Dean’s hand unerringly found the knife beneath his pillow. Something had woken him up. He checked the red glow of the nightstand clock to see that it was 12:01. Halloween.

Never a good sign.

There was a faint scuffing noise from the kitchen and Dean silently got to his feet, knife in front of him. He forced himself to count to five, and then spun around the corner, flicking the light on as he went.

Inexplicably, the first thought that came to him was _Butt._

Followed quickly by various other anatomical appendages, and then, finally,

“Cas!”

Cas blinked up at him from the puddle on the floor, where he was standing very much alive, and very much naked.

“You can see me?” he asked.

“Uh,” Dean deadpanned, “I can see a _little too much of you,_ if you know what I mean.”

Cas didn’t have a scrap of clothing on. And he was dripping water on the tiles which definitely did not make his nakedness even more appealing than it already was.

“Dean,” he gravelled. “Thank heavens. Listen, I might not have much time, so I just wanted to say—”

“ _Cas?_ ” Sam had been woken by their chatter in the kitchen, and was blinking at Cas from behind Dean’s shoulder. “Jesus, man. Where have you been? Where are your—hang on, I’ll get you a towel.”

Dean cursed himself. Why hadn’t he thought to get a towel? Too busy ogling his friend’s pale skin and toned delicious—

He cut that line of thought off right away.

“We’ve been looking for you,” he said instead. “And… wait, what were you going to say?”

Cas paused, and bit his lip, hesitating. “Only… only that I’m glad you brought me home, Dean. That’s all.”

“Huh?”

Dean then noticed the smashed mug on the floor. And the water dripping from the side of the sink. He looked into it and… his little frog was gone?

“That was _you?_ ”

“Some witch’s idea of a joke,” Cas confirmed. “I didn’t mind it that much, but I’m lucky you found me before a bird did.” He hesitated again. “If… if the spell reverses, I don’t want to be a frog again without you knowing how I feel about—”

“A witch turned you into a _frog?_ ” Sam had returned, towel in tow, and Dean blushed, not really knowing why. Cas took the proffered towel and put it over his shoulders, which covered nothing except, well, _his shoulders,_ and left the rest of him completely exposed. Sam coughed pointedly, elbowing Dean in the ribs.

“I guess we need to look at transformation spells, then,” Sam said, once Dean had dutifully turned away from Cas’s uncovered body.

“I agree,” Cas said solemnly. “I do not wish to return to life as a frog. I was almost forced to eat a small invertebrate.”

To punctuate this—frankly horrific—piece of information, Cas’s stomach gurgled meaningfully.

“Didn’t you eat the pizza?” Dean asked.

“I was a frog,” Cas pointed out. “I’m not sure how you expected me to consume and digest cold congealed carbohydrates.”

“Right,” said Dean, embarrassed. “Um.”

“There’s a 24 hour servo a few blocks away.” Sam put on a jacket and started lacing up his shoes. “I’ll get you something to last til morning.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas said gravely.

“And while I’m gone Dean can find you some clothes,” Sam said with a meaningful look at Dean, who blushed. Again.

Dean scrounged around in his duffel until he came out with an old pair of jeans and a shirt that would probably fit. He gave them to Cas, who’s response was to immediately drop the towel around his shoulders. Dean suddenly had the urge to cough and stare at the musty wallpaper.

“Dean,” Cas said with his stupid gravel-sex voice. “Why did you tell Sam to kiss me?”

Dean whipped around in shock, and then whipped straight back to staring at the wall. Cas was just holding the clothes. Not even attempting to put them on.

“Um,” Dean said to the peeling wallpaper, “it’s a, uh, kid’s story. A fairytale, y’know?”

“A fairytale?”

“Yeah, uh. Princess and the Frog?” He could feel the blush rising up the back of his neck and from the lack of movement behind him he was fairly sure that Cas was still starkers. “It’s about, well, a princess,” he laughed, too high-pitched, “and she kisses a frog, and turns him into a prince.”

“I see,” Cas said, sounding for all the world like he was considering it. “Do you think a kiss will prevent the spell reversing for me, too?”

Dean coughed, opened his mouth, coughed again. “It might,” he eventually squeaked.

Cas’s hand was on his shoulder, turning him around. The clothes lay forgotten on the table and Dean couldn’t for the life of him think of a single more intelligent thing to say than “Um,” as Cas reached for the back of his head, pulling him into a kiss.

Someone, somewhere, had a minor heart attack.

That someone was Dean.

Cas had his lips pressed against his Dean’s and they weren’t even moving. Weren’t even open. They weren’t even _really_ kissing, except for all the ways that they _absolutely were 100% kissing right now._

Dean made a gulping noise, and utterly failed to articulate Cas’s name.

What he _did_ manage to do, was to open his mouth. A move that Cas instantly copied. And then… _and then…_ Cas’s tongue… _his tongue!_ Dean possibly whimpered a little bit as what had been a dry, chaste kiss, quickly turned into a mind-meltingly hot make-out session between him, Dean Winchester, and Castiel, fucking _angel of the Lord._

Cas had his _tongue in Dean’s mouth,_ and Dean was going to die. It was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him.

Except then Cas pulled back, only slightly, only far enough to say “ _Dean_ ” against his lips, soft and turned on and wanting and no, nope, he had been wrong, _that_ was the hottest thing to ever happen to him.

Somehow, they ended up on the bed, with Dean on his back and Castiel on top of him like a naked squid, arms everywhere, holding him like Dean was going to fall apart. Which, in all fairness, felt like a distinct possibility every time Cas licked into his open mouth, moaning dirty.

“Dean,” he said, urgently. “Was there anything else in the fairytale? Anything… anything else that we should try? To… to stop me turning back into a frog?”

Dean gulped, and his brain instantly zeroed in on the way his legs were spread around Cas’s thighs, their hips lined up _just so._

“Um,” he croaked, sounding not unlike Cas’s frog-call from earlier. “Yeah. Yeah, there might have been, actually.” His brain was going to melt out of his ears. “I… I think there was something about… the frog… prince… using his hand… to…”

Cas nodded like Dean was making a strong argument. “Yes,” he said solemnly. “I think we should try that too.”

And then _God help him,_ his hand was reaching for the elastic of Dean’s shorts, slipping in. Getting around Dean’s cock and holding him like some kind of fragile prize. Barely any pressure. “I think,” Dean wheezed, “that the prince… moved his hand. In the story.”

“I see.” He squeezed briefly. “I believe I understand what the prince was trying to do.” And then Dean lost all connection with his vocal chords because Cas was moving. _Moving._  Jerking him off like a fucking professional. Like he’d been training for just this moment. Twisting along Dean’s length. Tugging at him. His other hand slipped lower to squeeze Dean’s balls and Dean couldn’t find the willpower to care that he was about to come in thirty seconds flat from nothing but a kiss and a handjob.

The fingers on his balls moved lower and Dean was a heartbeat away from telling Cas to stop _(no wait I’ve never… I don’t think it’ll feel good)_ before Cas found his hole and circled it gently, and hey, it wasn’t so bad after all. Still close enough to the main event—Cas’s hand working him slowly, now—that it actually felt kinda nice.

Cas pressed in oh so soft and, well, that felt pretty good too, so Dean really had no problem with Cas maybe pushing in a little harder and…

His back came clear off the bed as Cas popped a finger into him. Just the tip, though it might have been the tip of a firework for the reaction it got. His _shoulders_ ached, like Cas was shooting pleasure right up his spine. His toes were curling and his legs were falling open even further. More. _More._

Cas must have found lube or something because he slid in easily, one knuckle, two, curling into Dean, who shouted something that probably woke the neighbours. He was going to come from someone’s finger in his ass holy _fuck._

Cas pulled out (fuck) to add another finger (fuck) and slip back inside (fuck, fuck, fuck). He did the same thing, curling his fingers inside Dean, and this time when Dean’s back arched he stayed in that position, balanced on his heels and the back of his head with Cas’s fingers lodged inside him, still probing as he tensed.

“Cas,” he whimpered. Cas homed in on the sound of his name, and brought their lips together at the exact moment that Dean came, bringing them both crashing back to the mattress with a bang that sounded distinctly like breaking wood.

There was, quite possibly, some choral music playing somewhere. But it could have just as easily been Dean’s brain, high on endorphins and _Cas._ Coming down felt like floating from a cloud.

There was silence for about ten seconds. “You can let go of my dick now,” Dean eventually said, and shouldn’t have been surprised at all when Cas slipped both hands free and brought his come-covered fingers up to lick up the evidence of Dean’s orgasm.

Dean’s brain melted.

“This is… all you, right?” he gasped, when his cognitive functions had successfully re-engaged.

“What do you mean?” Cas sucked another finger into his mouth.

 _I mean last week we were Friends Who Eyefucked and now you’re licking my jizz off your hand like it’s maple syrup._ “Um. I mean. This isn’t a spell or anything, right?”

“The spell appears to have ended at midnight.” Cas blinked at him, way too calm. “I am currently under no outside influence, if that is your concern.”

“Right, so… this is… a thing… that happened…”

“I would have been most displeased if the spell reversed before I had an opportunity to give you pleasure.”

“Oh,” Dean squeaked. Cas lay down on top of him so they were touching everywhere, eyes only a few inches apart. Their noses bumped as Cas gently reclaimed his mouth, kissing the ever-living heck out of him until Dean forgot what they had been talking about.

When they pulled apart Cas’s lips were rubbed red and so fucking beautiful he thought he might come _again,_ just from the sight of them. He shifted around Cas’s hips. “You know,” he said, “we should probably, um, make sure that it’s worked. The spell. Or whatever. I mean… I think, in the story, the princess, that is to say… the prince should also get…”

“If you think that’s wise,” Cas agreed, and then he picked up Dean’s hand and guided it between his legs, wrapping Dean’s fingers around his cock. Dean possibly blanked out for a few seconds because he couldn’t recall the moment in between his hand leaving the bedspread and arriving on Cas’s cock; the moment where he was supposed to have a freak out. Which was probably a good thing, because the sound that Cas made when Dean touched him was practically illegal.

Without thinking too hard about it, Dean rolled them to get on top. It was a much better angle to work at but, more importantly, it meant he could shimmy down a little to sit on Cas’s calves, lean forward, and take Cas’s cock into his mouth.

The bedside lamp flickered and popped, and a car alarm started outside, but Cas gave no other indication of pleasure except to tense, very gently, beneath Dean’s hands, and breathe out on a long slow moan.

Dean sucked tentatively, not really sure what to do but willing to give it a try anyway. He’d had enough blowjobs in his life that he thought he could at least give an approximation of one, so he got as much of Cas’s dick into his mouth as he could, and just went to town, sucking and licking around him, leaking spit and moans and using his hands to reach what his mouth couldn’t

“Good?” he asked, coming up for air a minute later. The bedside radio sputtered onto a late night Christian sermon, and Dean leaned over to turn it off. “A religious experience, huh?” he surmised.

“Please don’t stop,” Cas gasped, fingers bunched into the bedsheets.

“If you liked that, you’re gonna love this.” He knee-walked forward until he could position himself above Cas’s cock, lowering himself cautiously. He was still wet and open from Cas’s fingers earlier and the extra spit on Cas’s cock made it surprisingly easy to relax around the head of him, using gravity to sink all the way.

Which was, of course, the exact moment that Sam returned.

“Jesus fucking _Christ,_ Dean, _what the fuck._ ”

Dean really didn’t have an opportunity to answer, as Sam slammed the door behind him. He (very briefly) considered going after him, but then Cas shifted his hips and… eh. Fuck it. There were more important things to worry about.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos sustain me xxx


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